


In Confidence

by CPFics



Series: The Muskequeers [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Agender Character, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Aramis wears a dress and loves it, Athos wears a dress and doesn't dislike it, Coming Out, Gender Dysphoria, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Historical Inaccuracy, LGBTQ Character, Multi, Non-binary character, Other, all three of them are soppy bastards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPFics/pseuds/CPFics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis and Athos come out...</p><p>1. To Each Other<br/>2. To Porthos<br/>3. To Treville<br/>4. To d'Artagnan and Constance</p><p>Gifted to AliciaLuar my wonderful Beta <333</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Each Other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliciaLuar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliciaLuar/gifts).



_1629_

They’d been told the owners of the house wouldn’t be returning for another week. They’d been told wrong. And that was how the three of them found themselves huddled in the back of a lady’s wardrobe while the lady herself wandered about in the room beyond.

Porthos shot a nervous glance at Athos and Aramis, doing a double take when he realised Aramis’ hand was extended, fingering the material of the dress in front of him. Athos followed Porthos’ gaze and raised an eyebrow. The moment Aramis realised he was being watched he snatched his hand back and looked that the floor. Porthos looked away with a slight frown, but Athos’ gaze lingered longer, searching.

“She’s gone,” Porthos hissed, snapping them both back to the task in hand. “We can make it out the window: we’re only one floor up.”

Athos and Aramis nodded, and they followed Porthos across the room. Athos noticed how Aramis’ hands trailed discreetly over the material of the dresses as they passed.

That night, when they were lying together in Porthos’ bed, relaxing after a hard and stressful day’s work, Athos decided to bring the subject up with Aramis. He waited until Porthos left them to get more alcohol and food.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he said, when Aramis was settled against his shoulder and he was trailing his fingers up and down his arm. Aramis shrugged.

“It’s been a tiring day.”

Athos gave him a dubious look. Aramis deliberately looked away.

“Aramis,” Athos said quietly. “The dresses…”

Aramis tensed next to him. Athos took his hand.

“You know you can tell us anything, right? You know we won’t judge you. Did you ever regret telling us you liked to lie with men?”

Aramis shook his head quickly. Of course he didn’t. It had led to the revelation that neither Athos nor Porthos was averse to sleeping with men either, and been the start of the longest and happiest relationship of any of their lives. He cleared his throat.

“I don’t… I sometimes… I don’t know how to explain,” he said at last, looking at his hand still clasped in Athos’.

“Take as long as you need.”

“I think… I’d rather you didn’t tell Porthos just yet,” he said. “I think this is something I’d rather approach one at a time.”

Athos looked concerned for a moment, but at last nodded his assent.

“I don’t… always… feel… like a man,” Aramis said slowly. Athos frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I mean I sometimes feel like a woman. Or sometimes both at the same time. Not as in… not as in my body changes but… it feels wrong to think of myself as a man sometimes. Sometimes it just feels right of think of myself as a woman or sometimes as both. And then it’s like… like my body doesn’t fit me. Like I’ve been forced into it like an ill-fitting uniform.”

Aramis paused, and to him the silence seemed to drag. He glanced quickly up at Athos, looking away again almost immediately.

“You know what? It’s silly. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Aramis made to sit up, but Athos caught his arm. Aramis flinched from his touch, but Athos persisted. Reluctantly, Aramis lay back again, still avoiding looking at Athos.

“No, it’s not,” said Athos. “I understand.”

Aramis scoffed.

“I mean it, Aramis,” insisted Athos. “I’m not just saying that. I myself don’t really feel like either.”

Aramis twisted his head to look at Athos’ face, eyes wide.

“So what do you feel like?”

Athos shrugged and shook his head.

“I don’t know. It isn’t really… it’s not really a thing for me. I just don’t feel like I’m anything, in that regard. People walk around and they say things like, ‘I am a man,’ or ‘I am a woman,’ and they seem to believe it, they seem to feel within themselves that it is true, but I do not. I say, ‘I am a man,’ and it feels like I lie. I say, ‘I am a woman,’ and it feels the same. I say, ‘I am neither, I am simply me,’ and that alone feels true.”

“So… you don’t think I’m… weird? Or… or ungodly? Or wrong?” Aramis’ eyes searched Athos’ face. Athos smiled and shook his head.

“No. I think you’re none of those things. How I feel about you hasn't changed, except now instead of thinking you’re an incredibly beautiful man, I think you are an incredibly beautiful human being.”

Aramis beamed and twisted further to kiss Athos.

“Thank you,” he breathed against Athos’ lips. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re an incredibly beautiful human being too.”

Athos smiled, then, a brighter smile than Aramis had ever seen on him. Aramis tensed again at the sound of Porthos’ heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Don’t tell him,” he hissed.

“I won’t,” Athos promised, capturing Aramis’ mouth in another kiss.

Porthos opened the door and tutted.

“Started without me?” he said. “Couldn’t even wait for food and drink?”

Athos and Aramis broke apart, smiling, and shuffled to sit on the edge of the bed, where Porthos passed them each a bowl of stew and a spoon.

\--

Athos poked his head around Aramis’ door. Aramis was lying on his bed, propped up on one elbow, reading a book of Spanish poetry. He looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“I come bearing gifts,” said Athos as he entered, holding up the large sack in his hand. “If you want them, that is. I mean, I can always take them back, it’s no trouble.”

Aramis got up and took the sack from Athos.

“At least let me see what it is before you decide for me that I don’t want them,” he said as he tipped the sack’s contents on to his bed. He shot a confused look at Athos. “Dresses?”

Athos nodded.

“The other day, I saw you were interested. So I thought… you might like to try one on.”

Aramis nodded, but looked hesitant. Athos came to stand beside him.

“I could wear one too, if it would make you feel more comfortable.”

Aramis stared at the dress in his hand for a moment, considering, then nodded again.

“It would,” he said.

Athos picked a dress and laid it aside as he stripped off his clothes. A few seconds later, Aramis followed suit.

“Could you tie me up?” Athos asked, once he’d pulled the sleeves onto his shoulders. Aramis came to stand behind him, pulling his own dress on, and tied the laces at the back. Then they both turned so that Athos could return the favour.

“How do you feel?” Athos asked when he’d finished, slipping his arms around Aramis’ waist and kissing his neck.

“Good,” said Aramis, smoothing his skirts. “You?”

“Not uncomfortable,” Athos admitted. “Well, slightly uncomfortable - I can barely breathe - but not… you know. Not wrong. Although it’s not exactly practical attire, and I doubt it goes with my beard. I think I’ll stick to shirts and breeches myself.”

Athos stepped back, turning Aramis around one hundred and eighty degrees so that he could look at him properly.

“You look gorgeous,” he said honestly. The dress’ corset middle gave curves to Aramis’ waist, the dip of the neckline showed off Aramis’ chest, and the loose, elbow-length sleeves disguised his broad shoulders and muscled upper arms.

“You were right about the beard,” said Aramis. Athos laughed, actually laughed, and Aramis thought it was the most delightful sound he’d ever heard. Aramis looked down at himself, smoothing his skirts again, and his smile faded. Athos barely heard him when he spoke: “I don’t want to take it off.”

Athos stepped forward again, catching Aramis in his arms and kissing him.

“So don’t,” he said.

“What if Porthos turns up?”

“He’s on duty ‘til dark today, we’ve got hours.”

Aramis wrapped his arms around Athos shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much,” he said into his neck.

“You’re very welcome,” said Athos. “Now, you might be quite comfortable, but I’d like to get back into my normal clothes.”

Aramis nodded and walked around to untie Athos’ laces. He pulled them loose slowly, reverently, leaning forward to press kisses against the skin revealed as the garment fell away. Athos stepped out of the dress and scooped up his shirt and breeches, not bothering to replace his jacket or belts.

Aramis pulled a trunk out from under his bed and carefully, so carefully, folded the dresses he wasn’t wearing into it. Athos smiled fondly at the way he handled the clothes as if they were worth their weight in gold. At last Aramis stood and held out his hands to Athos.

“Dance with me?” he asked. Athos stepped forward, placed one hand on Aramis’ waist and took his hand with the other.

“Are you going to provide the music?”

Aramis began to hum. The tune was nothing special, but all they needed was the timing. They twirled and turned and spun around the small room, grinning broadly. At last Aramis’ humming began to become breathless and Athos was starting to feel dizzy. Their steps slowed, until they were simply standing together in the middle of the room. Aramis hadn’t stopped smiling. Athos bent to kiss him, tightening both hands around his waist, and Aramis leaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Athos’ neck and pulling him closer. Athos dropped his hands to cup Aramis’ arse, pulling their hips together. Aramis groaned with something that didn’t sound at all like pleasure.

“What’s wrong?” asked Athos, immediately loosening his grip. Aramis dropped his head onto Athos’ shoulder, his fingers twisted in Athos’ shirt, and he screwed his eyes shut. He looked almost as if he were in pain.

“Betrayed by my body,” he said, with a breathy laugh. Athos took a moment to cotton on.

“Oh. Sorry.” He moved his hands to hold Aramis’. “I’m sure your mind can conjure up some dreadful image to fix that.”

Aramis snatched his hands from Athos’ and turned away.

“Plenty,” he said coldly, combing a hand through his hair.

Athos knew at once he had phrased that badly. The fourth anniversary of the incident at Savoy had been barely more than a week ago. Aramis had only just started sleeping through the night again.

“Aramis, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean … You know I didn’t,” Athos found himself pleading, guilt sitting heavy in his gut.

“I know,” Aramis said. He snorted quietly. “It worked, at least.”

Athos sat down on the edge of the bed, gently pulling Aramis down next to him. He wrapped his arms around him and kissed his forehead.

“Has it ever been uncomfortable before?” Athos asked. Aramis shook his head.

“No. Not that bad, at least. I just… I almost forgot, for a moment, that I wasn’t a woman. I mean, that my body wasn’t… And it just felt so comfortable and good and right, and then…”

“You know you could have said something? Made excuses? We never wanted you to be uncomfortable.”

Aramis didn’t reply, just sighed and rested his head on Athos’ shoulder. Athos held him more tightly.

“The sun’s going down,” said Aramis sadly after a short silence. “Porthos will be off duty soon.”

“You going to take it off?”

Aramis nodded, but made no effort to move. Athos kissed his head again, and slowly began pulling free the laces at the back. When they were loose enough that the sleeves began to slide from Aramis’ shoulders, he stood up and stepped out of it, folding it carefully in the trunk with the others before replacing his normal clothes.

When Porthos did arrive a little while later, it was to find Athos curled against Aramis, lying in the crook of his arm and resting his head on his shoulder, while Aramis read aloud from his book of Spanish poetry. Porthos, smiling, shucked off his belts, boots and jacket and clambered in between Athos and the wall. He threw one arm over both of them, wrapping the other under and around Athos’ waist.

Soon, he was snoring, and Athos’ eyes kept drifting shut. Aramis put his book down, snuffed the candle, and shuffled down until his head was on the pillow. He caught Athos’ eye and smiled at him, hoping to convey all his gratitude in that one look. Athos squeezed his hand and smiled back.

 

 


	2. To Porthos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a psa, some of the descriptions/terms/etc in this fic aren't the best, but I'm trying to a certain extent to fit it into what descriptions and terms they would have been familiar with at the time (with the exception of the pronouns, which I just really wanted to use)
> 
> Also this chapter carries a TRIGGER WARNING for mentions of self-harm (or desire to self-harm, specifically)

When Athos returned from duty a few days later, he entered Porthos’ apartments - having already checked on Aramis’ to find them empty - to the sight of Aramis and Porthos standing in the middle of the room in their shirt sleeves, wrapped in each other’s arms and kissing passionately. They both looked up as he entered.

“At last!” said Porthos, laughing.

“Oh, please don’t stop on my account,” said Athos as he removed his jacket, belts and boots, but they ignored him. When he too was down to his shirt and breeches, Aramis held out a hand to him, and he joined their embrace, kissing them each in turn. 

“Now, to my favourite place,” said Porthos, pulling them towards the bed. “In my bed with my two favourite men.”

“Wait, Porthos,” Aramis said, glancing at Athos. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Something _we_ want to tell you,” Athos amended, squeezing Aramis’ hand.

“Are you getting married?” asked Porthos, a cheeky smile lifting one side of his mouth. “Is one of you pregnant?”

“Porthos, this is serious,” said Aramis, giving Porthos a gentle shove. Something in his tone made Porthos’ grin fade.

“I’m listening,” Porthos said.

Aramis took a deep breath, and Athos squeezed his hand again, nodding encouragingly.

“The thing is… I’m not a man… not all the time, anyway. Sometimes I am. But then sometimes I’m not. And Athos… Athos…”

“What Aramis means to say,” said Athos, seeing Aramis becoming flustered, “is that sometimes he feels that he is a man, and sometimes he feels that he’s a woman, and sometimes he feels that he’s both, and I never feel like I’m either.”

“OK,” said Porthos, shrugging. Aramis looked up at him, frowning slightly.

“Just… OK?”

Porthos looked between them.

“Yeah. Look, where I was growing up there were all sorts of people. Men in dresses and women in trousers and people who were both or neither or something else entirely or at least not the one they’d been told they were. It’s just how it was.”

Aramis opened and closed his mouth a few times before he found words.

“You mean… there are lots of people like us?”

“Probably more than you or I or any of us are aware of,” Porthos said, pulling Aramis to his side. Aramis had that smile on his face again, the one that seemed impossible to wipe away once it was there, and Athos found the corners of his own mouth turning upwards too.

“Athos got me dresses,” said Aramis quietly, tugging on a loose thread on Porthos’ shirt.

“Yeah?” said Porthos, raising an eyebrow at Athos. “Bet you look pretty good in them, don’t you?”

Athos let his grin spread across his face.

“Beautiful,” he agreed. Although Aramis’ grin stayed in place, the rest of his face crumpled and he buried it in Porthos’ shirt, wrapping his arms tightly around Porthos’ neck.

“C’m’ere, you big softy,” said Porthos, gathering Aramis into his arms and lifting him up effortlessly. Athos heard Aramis laugh into Porthos’ shoulder. Porthos, somehow managing to support all of Aramis’ weight on one arm, held the other out to Athos, who immediately stepped into the embrace. Porthos’ arm closed around him, and he felt Aramis’ hand tangle in his hair. He reached up to clasp Aramis’ hand in his own.

This, he thought, as he listened to Aramis saying ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ over and over again against Porthos’ shoulder, is home.

\--

“Sometimes I want… to change my body… to make it fit,” Aramis broke the comfortable silence that had settled over the room as they lay together in Porthos’ bed. He was lying face-down on Porthos’ chest, while Athos was curled against Porthos’ side and Porthos had an arm around each of them. Athos could just make out the shape of Aramis in the moonlight, propped up on his elbows and tracing gentle lines over Porthos’ chest. He could see his lowered eyes shining in the dark.

“Tell me,” said Porthos so quietly that Athos hardly heard him. Athos shifted closer to Porthos, taking Aramis’ hand in his and pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. Aramis squeezed his hand and took a deep breath before he spoke.

“When… when I feel like a woman, my body feels wrong. Not like it isn’t mine but… more like… it’s surely blasphemy to say it but more like God made a mistake when he made it. That he made it too broad and square and muscled and… and put the wrong thing between the legs. And often I have wished that I could reshape it. But I am afraid.”

Suddenly Athos pulled himself away from Aramis and Porthos and paced across the room, coming to a halt on the far side and leaning heavily against the wall. Aramis’ voice, when he spoke, was tiny.

“Athos?”

Athos sighed.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I just… I know what it’s like, to feel like truly one is not what everyone thinks or says one is. And I know it is hard. But this? Of this I have no experience, but I know it must be one hundred times harder. The other day… you looked so pained, so tormented. I want to ease your suffering, Aramis, more than anything, but I do not know how. And, Lord, I have never felt so helpless!”

Aramis stared at Athos in wide-eyed silence. At last he swallowed, and held out his hand.

“Athos,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Please come back.”

Athos hesitated for only a second before he walked back to Porthos’ bed and took Aramis’ outstretched hand. Aramis pulled him forward until he was forced to clamber back onto the bed and back to Porthos’ side. Aramis pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug and Athos’ could feel tears on Aramis’ cheeks. He reached up to curl his fingers in Aramis’ hair.

“I’m sorry, Aramis,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Aramis let Athos move back enough that he could kiss him, slowly, gently, lovingly. Then Aramis drew back and looked Athos in the eye.

“The dresses helped, Athos,” he said. “They helped so much. Nothing has ever made me feel so right when before I felt so wrong. _I’m_ sorry. I should not have brought it up.”

“No!” said Porthos and Athos at the same time. Athos and Aramis both looked at Porthos, surprised, as he had said nothing since Aramis’ confession.

“Always tell us, Aramis, if you’re suffering,” Porthos said. “If it hurts us it is only because of the knowledge that it is hurting you more. You too, Athos. I could not bear to feel that either of you were suffering alone.”

Athos and Aramis both shifted closer to Porthos, resting their heads on his chest and closing their eyes as he tightened his arms around them.

\--

The next day, Porthos wandered into Aramis' flat waving a scrap of paper. Aramis was wearing one of his dresses, as he often was, and sitting across the bed, leaning against the wall, next to Athos. Their hands were joined between them.

"I've been doing some research for you," he said, dropping down on Aramis' other side. He spread the paper out flat on his lap. Athos and Aramis leaned over to see.

"What are they?" asked Aramis, scanning the list of word sets.

"Neutral pronouns," Porthos declared. "A lot of those people I was telling you about use them in the Court."

"But if we use them," said Aramis, following the paper with his eyes as Athos picked it up for a closer look, "won't everyone know?"

“We could just use them when we’re alone,” said Athos, and Porthos nodded in agreement. Athos scanned the list again.

“To be honest,” he said, “I don’t see what’s wrong with just using ‘they’,”

They went to hand the paper back to Porthos, but Aramis snatched it from their hand as it passed.

“For goodness’ sake, Athos, you’re so _utilitarian_. Where’s your sense of _self-expression_?” He read the list carefully several times. “Here, look, this one. ‘Ne/nem/nir/nemself’. I like that one.”

“Then it’s yours,” said Porthos, slipping his arm around Aramis’ waist and nuzzling nir shoulder and neck. 

“This is Aramis. Ne is gorgeous, and I love nem,” he muttered into Aramis skin. Aramis grinned in what could only be described as delight, turning to rub nir face against Porthos’. 

“I love nir skin, and nir smile,” Porthos continued. “Over there is Athos. They drink too much, but I love them too.”

Porthos flashed a sly grin in Athos’ direction. Athos, laughing, curled their fingers in Porthos’ hair and pulled him towards them, bringing their mouths together, so that Porthos was draped over both Aramis and Athos’ laps.

“Now really,” said Aramis dramatically, slapping Porthos on the side. “That is no way to behave around a lady.”

“Oh, that’s how it’s going to be, is it?” said Porthos, barely restraining his laughter. Aramis responded with a look of such haughty disapproval that he couldn’t contain himself any longer and burst out laughing, rolling off the bed and landing on the floor with a crash. Aramis immediately followed him down, landing carefully astride his thighs. Ne leaned down to kiss Porthos, an act made almost impossible by the fact that they were both silly with laughter.

Porthos used Aramis bending down as an opportunity to roll them both over, Aramis’ skirts splaying out in a fan beneath them both. Aramis reached out and tugged on Athos’ breeches.

“Athos, get that gorgeous arse of yours down here right this second,” ne said, actual tears of laughter rolling down nir cheeks.

Athos did as they were told, sliding onto the floor and shouldering Porthos out the way to kiss Aramis’ neck. Aramis back arched with laughter as Porthos shoved Athos back, and before they knew it they were all three of them reduced to a giggling, teary heap on Porthos’ floor.

At last they recovered themselves and lay side by side, breathing deeply, their sides aching. Porthos reached over Aramis to take Athos’ hand.

“Athos,” he said, “is there anything you want? I mean, Aramis has his dresses and everything and you haven’t asked for anything…”

“No,” said Athos, squeezing his hand. “You two are all I need.”

Aramis made a gagging noise, and Athos elbowed nem in the ribs.

“At least I didn’t cry,” they goaded. Aramis narrowed nir eyes at them, but couldn’t keep the smile off nir face. Ne couldn’t stay angry at Athos, not when they were the happiest ne’d ever known them to be. Instead ne caught their lips with nir own.

“ _I_ would like,” ne declared, turning back to Porthos, “some perfume, and some earrings, and necklaces, and-”

Porthos shut nem up by kissing nem, hard, and rolling over to sit astride nir waist. Athos reached up to nip and bite at Porthos’ neck.

“Gentlepeople,” said Aramis, eliciting a grin from Athos, “shall we move this to the bed?”

\--

Porthos and Athos both bought Aramis perfume and jewellery in the end, and ne bought some for nemself as well.

Eventually, as the freedom of being out to Athos and Porthos became the norm, ne wore the dresses less, and often felt comfortable spending the evening in a tavern or in one of their rooms lounging around in nir uniform. Still, though, there were many days when the first thing ne’d do at the end of a shift was rush home, strip off nir uniform and pull on a dress, letting the stress and fatigue of pretending all day drain away from nem.


	3. To Treville

_1629_

“You three, my office, now!” Treville shouted from the balcony. Athos, Aramis and Porthos looked at each other sheepishly: they knew what this was about. The three of them had all got a little bit too drunk the night before, and ended up duelling a small group of Red Guards, several of whom may well have hobbled into work that morning in less than great condition.

They filed up the stairs and into Treville’s office. Treville himself was leaning forwards on his desk, and he started shouting as soon as they’d closed the door behind them, raising one hand to jab a finger threateningly in their direction.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that as long as you are wearing that uniform you are representing your regiment, you are representing me, and you are representing the king, and I will not tolerate _my men_ beha- Aramis?”

Nearly all the anger had immediately vanished from Treville’s voice: Aramis had flinched at the word ‘men’ as if ne had been struck. Athos reached for nir hand, but then remembered themself and squeezed nir shoulder instead. Aramis had had a bad morning, and not just because of the hangover. Athos had woken to find nem standing naked, despite the midwinter chill seeping through the shutters, in nir room with nir uniform in nir hands, looking sadly between it and the trunk of dresses under nir bed. In the end Athos and Porthos had had to physically manhandle nem into the uniform, forcing nir arms into the sleeves as ne tried desperately to pin them to nir chest. 

“Has something happened? Is there something you three need to tell me?” Treville walked around his desk to sit back on the near side of it, still facing them.

“Sorry, sir,” said Aramis. “It’s something of a personal matter.”

Treville crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at them.

“If this has anything to do with the fact that you three are shagging, then I know - I’m not dense - and it’s not an issue, as long as you turn up to your shifts on time and well turned-out.”

Porthos cleared his throat self-consciously, and Athos felt a blush creeping up his neck. 

“It’s… not that,” said Aramis slowly.

“Sir, if I may,” Porthos interrupted. “I think perhaps it would be best if we were to allow Aramis to keep this t-”

“No,” said Aramis surely. “No, Porthos, it’s OK.”

They all looked at nem expectantly, but ne didn’t seem to be able to go any further.

“You understand, of course,” said Treville gently, “that you are three of my best soldiers, and I will do whatever I can to help you.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do, sir,” said Aramis.

“Well, we’re not going to know unless you tell me, are we?”

Aramis nodded and took a deep breath, staring at the floor.

“Sometimes I don’t feel like a man at all I feel like a woman or sometimes both but today I feel like a woman and right now I hate having to wear this uniform and I hate being ‘him’ or ‘man’ or ‘gentleman’ or ‘monsieur’.”

The silence that followed stretched on so long that Aramis looked up nervously. Athos, realising that if Treville knew about the three of them then appearances no longer mattered, squeezed nir hand. At last Treville spoke:

“Do you have someone you can talk to about this? Someone who… understands?”

“Ne has me,” said Athos. Treville didn’t comment on the pronoun, but frowned incredulously.

“You too?”

“Not exactly. Where Aramis shifts between man, woman or both, I never feel that I am any of those things. Even so, I understand to a large extent how Aramis feels.”

Treville nodded.

“Well, then,” he said, walking back round his desk and sinking into his chair. “I think the solution to our problem is obvious. It is very apparent that Aramis is too ill to work today. Athos, Porthos, you will both escort nem back to nir rooms, where ne might be able to change into more… comfortable attire. Then one of you will return - I don’t mind which one - for duty. I will reorganise the rota so that at least one of you is always free to keep an eye on Aramis.”

Aramis’ face broke into a relieved smile. Ne looked at Athos and squeezed nir hand back.

“Thank you, sir,” they all said, bowing their heads, before turning to leave.

“Athos,” Treville called as they reached the door. “A quick word?”

Athos gave Aramis’ hand a quick final squeeze, then let Porthos usher nem out of the room.

“Are _you_ okay, Athos?” Treville asked as soon as the door closed. “Is there anything _you_ need?”

“No, sir, thank you,” they said. “Although it certainly grates on me sometimes, being constantly called ‘him’ or ‘man’ or ‘monsieur’, I do not suffer as Aramis does.”

Treville nodded and dismissed them.

“Do say, though,” he said as Athos reached the door. “If you do need anything.”

Athos nodded.

“Thank you, sir,”

“Oh, and please stop duelling Red Guards in public,”

Athos smiled and nodded again.

Aramis and Porthos were waiting for them just outside the door. They set off quickly, Aramis keen to change out of nir uniform.

“What do _you_ think it means, Athos?” Aramis asked, clearly continuing a conversation ne and Porthos had been having while they were talking to Treville. “Treville being familiar with neutral pronouns, I mean.”

Athos shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine. The Captain is well-travelled and experienced. It would not surprise me if he had met others like us at some point.”

As soon as they reached Aramis’ apartments, ne tore off nir uniform and slipped into one of nir dresses. Porthos went over to help nem do it up.

“I’ll head back,” said Athos to Porthos, leaning against the door as they watched them. “You stay here with Aramis.”

Porthos finished tying the laces and walked over to Athos, pulling them into his arms.

“You sure?” he said. Athos nodded. Porthos leaned down and kissed them, pulling his arms tighter around them.

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” they said, breaking the kiss. 

“We won’t,” said Porthos, pressing brief kisses along Athos’ jaw and throat, making them wonder what Treville would do if neither of them returned. At last, reluctantly, they pushed Porthos away, deciding it wasn’t worth finding out.

They turned to Aramis and held out their hand. Aramis placed nir hand in theirs, and they bent to brush their lips over nir knuckles. Aramis giggled, using Athos’ hand to pull them closer, and kissed them as Porthos had done.

“Anyone would think you’re trying to persuade me to shirk my duties,” Athos said when Aramis finally pulled away.

“Maybe we are,” said Porthos, moving to stand beside them and rubbing his hand over Athos’ shoulders, making their head drop forwards against Aramis’ in pleasure.

“You’re absolute bastards, both of you,” said Athos, brushing Porthos’ hand away with supreme strength of will. “But Treville has granted us a favour, and it would be ungracious of us to take advantage of it. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

Once Athos had left, Porthos pulled Aramis close to him, resting his hands on nir waste and dipping to trail light kisses down nir neck.

“You and Athos are so brave,” he said. Aramis hummed quietly in acknowledgement of the compliment. Porthos continued: “I don’t know how you do it. Either of you. To walk out the door each day as if you’re in costume or something.”

He shook his head, unable to find words.

“It’s better now,” Aramis said. “Now that we have each other. And you. And now Treville. Each new person who knows and accepts it is a little more time when we don’t have to hide.”

“If I could change anything about the world,” Porthos said, brushing Aramis’ hair back from nir face, “I would make it so that you and Athos and I could walk down the street hand in hand, you in your dress, and not be afraid. Not be in danger.”

“Goodness, Porthos, you’re becoming quite the romantic.”

“Nah,” Porthos shook his head. “What’s so romantic about wanting to be treated like a human being?”

Aramis sighed and dropped nir head onto Porthos’ shoulder.

“What indeed?”

\--

When Athos returned several hours later, Porthos was sitting across the bed, leaning against the wall, with Aramis curled up, asleep on his lap, nir head resting on his collarbone and his arms joined around nir middle.

“Am I gonna have to get up?” Porthos asked, as Athos came over and pressed a light kiss on Aramis’ head. Aramis sighed contentedly but didn’t stir.

“Not yet. You’re on the late evening shift.”

Porthos nodded and Athos settled next to him, resting their head on his shoulder and drawing their knees up to their chest. Porthos moved one of his arms from Aramis’ waist to wrap it around Athos instead. He could tell there was something weighing on their mind, but didn’t push it, knowing they’d share when they were ready.

“Ne looks so peaceful,” they said at last. “I wish ne didn’t have to hide.”

“I know,” Porthos agreed. He pulled Athos closer. “I wish you didn’t have to hide either.”

Athos shook their head.

“It’s not as bad for me at it is for nem. I don’t mind dressing like this every day. I can leave the house and feel comfortable.”

Porthos turned to them.

“Just because it’s not as bad for you doesn’t make it any less wrong. Both of you have every right to be free to be yourselves without fear.”

Athos squeezed Porthos hand.

“All of us do.”

\--

Most days, Aramis was able to convince nemself to put on their uniform and turn up for work, happy just to be able to change at the end of the day. Sometimes, though, Porthos and Athos would arrive at the garrison and tell Treville that Aramis was too ill to work. Treville would nod, and though they never asked for it, he would always make sure that they were given separate shifts, so that one of them could stay home with Aramis.


	4. To d'Artagnan and Constance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel I might have been a bit mean to d'Artagnan in this. He wasn't meant to appear thick, just not so worldly-wise as the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I totally meant to submit this yesterday but also totally forgot.
> 
> Also this is set in an AU where Monsieur Bonacieux was somehow deleted from existence in one of many horrible and painful ways. I can't bring myself to write Constance with him rather than d'Artagnan.
> 
> Second also, this will have an epilogue, though it will be posted as a separate work to the series rather than a chapter in this work because it will be E rated.

_1630_

Athos could remember with unnerving clarity the day d’Artagnan had arrived at the garrison. Then again, they supposed, one probably would remember when a young stranger barrels into one’s life, accusing one of murder and challenging one to a duel. It’s not the kind of thing that happens every day, even to them. d’Artagnan had even gone on to help clear their name and save their life, and become a firm and beloved member of their friendship group, especially once he gained his commission as well. And with him came Constance.

The down-side to this, though, was that it brought up the issue of _telling him_. And telling him meant, by default, telling Constance too. It worried Athos a little. Yes, every person they told and who accepted them was another little bit of freedom. But on the other hand, every person they told had the potential to turn around and spurn them. Every person they told was a risk.

They brought it up with Aramis one day when they were both watching d’Artagnan spar with Porthos.

“We should tell him,” they said, as they leaned against one side of a vertical beam, Aramis leaning against the other. The yard was otherwise empty.

“I know,” said Aramis, sighing. “But I don’t know how. And you know by telling him we’ll be telling Madame Bonacieux too. He tells her everything.”

“I trust Constance,” said Athos.

“But not d’Artagnan?”

“Of course I trust d’Artagnan. But it’s like you said: how?”

“Maybe Constance has figured it out already. She figured out that we were sleeping together.”

“Hmmm. So did Treville. You know, I’m beginning to think we should be more careful.”

“Nah, Treville knows us better than anyone. He probably noticed the very next day. He might even have seen it coming. And Constance is the most perceptive person I’ve ever met, so of course she figured it out.” Aramis settled more comfortably against the post, as if ne’d been trying to convince nemself as much as Athos.

“You don’t need to be _that_ perceptive to walk in on three people fast asleep in a tangled heap on your floor to come to the conclusion that they’re accustomed to sleeping together. It’s hardly a massive leap.”

“Or maybe d’Artagnan had already told her by then anyway.”

“Maybe.”

Athos smirked. They remembered when d’Artagnan had found out about them. They’d been riding back to Paris, in high spirits, but tired out of their minds, when they’d stopped at an inn for the night. They’d taken one room for the four of them, intending to play some game to decide who got the bed while the other three slept on the floor. But then Porthos had bought alcohol, and they’d all had a little too much to drink.

Aramis had always been a tactile drunk - in fact ne was pretty tactile sober - so the late evening had found nem sitting astride a too-close-to-sleep-to-even-remember-d’Artagnan-was-there-because-their-eyes-had-fallen-closed-hours-ago Athos, the two kissing passionately while Porthos snored on Athos’ shoulder, and poor d’Artagnan staring open-mouthed, trying to work out whether it was some bizarre, drink-addled dream or was really happening. His uncertainty was resolved in the morning, when he woke - severely hungover - to find Aramis still collapsed against Athos’ chest and Porthos’ head resting on nir thigh while Athos combed their fingers through his hair. In the end, d’Artagnan had got the bed, because the other three all passed out before they had a chance to play for it. 

Most of the journey home - the part that wasn’t spent grumbling about how terrible they felt and wincing at every little noise - was passed demanding over and over that d’Artagnan swear not to tell anyone what he’d witnessed. So far, with the possible exception of Constance, he’d kept his word.

“Maybe we should just get really drunk again,” Athos suggested. Aramis hummed as if ne was considering it.

“It’s a bit uncontrolled,” ne said. “Maybe we should just start using our pronouns around him and see what happens.”

“In public?”

“Well, where were you suggesting we got drunk?”

Athos tipped their head in acknowledgement and they both lapsed into silence.

“Maybe I should just turn up at Constance’s one day in a dress.” Aramis suggested.

“Who’s going to turn up at Constance’s in a dress?” asked d’Artagnan. Aramis and Athos both looked up sharply. They’d been so distracted by their conversation that they hadn’t noticed Porthos and d’Artagnan had finished sparring, and d’Artagnan had walked over to join them while Porthos went in search of food. Aramis paused for a moment, considering, then said,

“I am,”

d’Artagnan gave nem a blank look.

“Why?”

“Maybe I just feel like it,”

d’Artagnan thought about this for a minute, then shrugged.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised. A man in a dress is hardly the weirdest thing that’s happened to me since I fell in with you three.”

“Ah, well, you’ll be pleased to know, then, that it’s not even as weird as that, because, technically, I’m not a man.”

d’Artagnan frowned at Aramis, and Athos could almost see him trying to figure out the meaning of what Aramis had just said.

“So… you’re a… woman?” he asked eventually. “You can’t mean-” He gestured vaguely at Aramis’ chest. 

“Oh, goodness, no. No, no, it’s nothing to do with my physical body. It’s just how I feel. Strictly speaking, I am a man sometimes. And sometimes I’m a woman. And sometimes I’m both. And on some of those sometimes I wear dresses.”

d’Artagnan looked a little as though his entire worldview had been deconstructed and rebuilt differently, which, Athos supposed, it sort of had. d’Artagnan looked at them desperately, as if he hoped they’d tell him not to worry, Aramis was joking, everything didn’t suddenly just get a lot more complicated. Athos shrugged apologetically.

“Actually, I’m not a man either,” they said. “Nor, indeed, a woman.”

d’Artagnan shook his head, as if it might help all this new information settle into a more comprehensible formation. At that moment, Porthos returned with a large bread bun and came to stand at Aramis’ side.

“He’s not a man,” said d’Artagnan, pointing at Aramis.

“I know. Ne’s a thief,” Porthos said, frowning, as Aramis stole half his bun. Aramis winked at him as ne put it in nir mouth.

“Ne?” d’Artagnan asked.

“It’s a pronoun,” said Aramis. “In fact, it’s my pronoun.”

“And you?” d’Artagnan turned to Athos.

“No, Athos is a they,” said Porthos. Athos nodded.

d’Artagnan stood in silence for a minute, a look of fierce concentration on his face. Eventually he nodded uncertainly.

“OK. I think I get it. Who else knows?” he asked.

“Treville,” said Athos. “No one else.”

d’Artagnan nodded again.

“And obviously you’d rather it remained that way?”

“Obviously,” agreed Athos.

“But you can tell Madame Bonacieux, if you must,” added Aramis, and d’Artagnan blushed, answering their earlier musings as to whether he’d told her about their relationship.

\--

The subject wasn’t raised again until the four of them found themselves in Constance’s kitchen, enjoying an afternoon off together. They’d been largely silent, enjoying the delicious lunch that Constance had provided.

“You’re welcome, you know,” Constance said, breaking the silence at last. They all looked up. Constance was looking at Aramis. “To wear dresses here, if you want.”

Aramis smirked at d’Artagnan, who blushed, before ne turned back to Constance and tipped nir hat to her.

“Thank you,” ne said. “You’re very kind.”

They fell silent again for a while, before Constance spoke again.

“d’Artagnan says you have days when you have to stay at home because you can’t face wearing your uniform,” she said.

Aramis raised an eyebrow, wondering how d’Artagnan could have found that out, and Athos gave nem and apologetic look. Ne rolled nir eyes at them. Athos had always had a soft spot for d’Artagnan.

“He’s right,” ne said.

“I thought… maybe it might help if you had something you could wear underneath. A corset or a bodice or something. No one would know from looking at you, but it might make you feel better.”

“It might,” Aramis agreed.

Before they left, Aramis let Constance measure nem up, standing shirtless in her kitchen as she pulled her tape across his shoulders, around his waist, down his back, and scribbled the numbers down on a scrap of paper.

“I’ll send d’Artagnan with it when it’s done,” she promised as she showed them to the door.

\--

As soon as they got through the door to Athos’ rooms that evening, Aramis grabbed Athos’ hands, spun them around and then threw nir arms around their neck, turning them both around and around in circles.

“I feel almost like I could tell the whole world,” ne said, as Porthos watched them fondly, removing his belts and boots. Athos wrapped their arms around Aramis’ waist and smiled, allowing themself to be pulled around the room.

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t advise it,” they said at last.

“I know, but it’s nice,” said Aramis, stopping the spinning and nuzzling Athos’ neck. They could feel nir grin against their skin. “Everyone we’ve told so far’s been so accepting.”

Aramis drew back to look at Athos, still smiling. Athos returned the smile, and Aramis grinned even more broadly.

“Come here, you two,” said Porthos, sitting down on the edge of Athos’ bed. Aramis went and sat on Porthos’ lap, leaning back against his chest and allowing nir legs to fall either side of his. Ne held nir arms out to Athos, who settled sideways on Porthos’ lap between Aramis’ legs, throwing an arm around Aramis and over Porthos’ shoulders. Porthos wrapped his arms around both of them, his hands joining at Athos’ hip. Aramis laid one hand on top of Porthos’ and with the other took hold of Athos’ free hand. Athos let his head fall to the side onto Aramis’ right shoulder, and Porthos rested his on nir left. Aramis laughed, kissing each of their heads in turn.

“I love you both,” ne said, finally bringing nir own head to rest on top of Athos’. Porthos and Athos both hummed in agreement.

They stayed like that for some time, until eventually, with a groan, Porthos fell sideways and backwards to lie on the bed, pulling Athos and Aramis down with him, and reducing all three of them to a giggling tangle of limbs.

They were just as tangled, and just as happy, when the sun rose the next morning.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Eveline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585655) by [doomcanary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcanary/pseuds/doomcanary)




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